


Death By The Golden Ticket

by ETNMystic



Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [23]
Category: And Then There Were None - Christie, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Or worse, and gory, cw blood, cw knives, cw pills, cw suicidal ideation, possibly danganronpa levels of gore, this gets very violent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24034714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNMystic/pseuds/ETNMystic
Summary: Our story takes place on a small island just off the coast of Devon on the weekend of August 8, 1969. This island, named Golden Ticket Island, had a mansion which was recently bought by a millionaire by the name of Wo. N. Ka. Five teenagers were invited out onto this island. All five of these teenagers have secrets, which keep them from living normal lives.Secrets that may come back to kill them...
Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726699
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. The Circle of Culprits

Cyril Buford looked around at the other children in the room with her. They had all arrived on the island by boat just this afternoon. She had no idea as to who any of these people were. In fact they were all strangers to one another, apparently. 

Cyril looked down at her invitation, brushing away the dirty blonde hair of hers that kept getting in her face. The writing was in black calligraphy on golden paper. It was their admission onto the island. Reminded her vaguely of a golden ticket...

"Where's Mr. Ka?" a medium-sized, blonde-haired girl on Cyril's right asked interrupting Cyril's train of thought.

"You tell me," said a brown-haired boy on Cyril's left.

He was slumped over with a bottle of root beer in his hand.

"Why me? I just asked where he was, so I don't know where. I don't even know who this Mr. Ka is. Just that he invited us out here."

"Say, has anyone noticed our table's centerpiece?" Cyril asked.

The others looked at the table. Neatly arranged in a circle were five copies of the book "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," by Roald Dahl. Each of the copies had a child's name on it and an excerpt of the book was marked for each of the children. They each picked up their copy.

"I remember this book!" exclaimed the girl on Cyril's right.  
"Such nonsense. The idea of being swallowed by a pipe or turning into a blueberry."

"Yes, it's all nonsense," said the slumped over boy.

"Let's focus," piped up a small, brunette girl directly across from Cyril.  
"Does anyone here know who Mr. Ka is?"

"I barely know who any of you are, let alone this Ka fellow," said a large boy with light, blonde hair just to the right of the small girl.

"He's got a point. While we're waiting for Mr. Ka, we should at least get to know each other," said the girl to the right of Cyril.

"Can't imagine how it would matter," the small girl scoffed.  
"Let's put on some music, at least."

The small girl went over to the gramaphone on the small table and found that there was already a record on it. She set the needle in place and sat back down.

"Attention, children!" a voice boomed over the record player.

All five of them jumped in surprise.

"This is your host Mr. Wo. N. Ka. You are each guilty of the following crimes. August Henry Gump. On the afternoon of May 27th, 1967, you ran nine year old Cynthia Willows Jameson over with a buggy. The injuries done to her caused her to bleed to death in the rainy streets of Bristol."

The large boy began to shake in fear.

"Veronica Eliza Smith. On the morning of August 15th, 1964, you harassed fifteen year old James Jacob Carlton and pushed him off of the roof of your house."

The girl on Cyril's right whimpered ever so quietly,

"Victoria Emily Beaureaux. On the afternoon of September 4th, 1965, you deliberately filled the wine glass of Martha Elvira Halsford with strong doses of choral hydrate, urticaria, curare, and potassium cyanide; causing her to break out in a rash and die of asphyxiation."

The small girl gave a scream of fright.

"Mitchell Brady Terrence. In the late afternoon of April 19th, 1965, you electrocuted nine year old Emily Hallow Finch while you were fixing the wires in the electrical room of the Saint Margaret Rehabilitation Center, causing her to die instantly."

The boy who was slumped over sat up in fear.

"Cyril Elizabeth Buford. On the evening of July 15th, 1965, you sentenced your older sister Liesel Crane Buford to her death in the heat of anger by giving her an overdose of sleep medication along with doses of choral hydrate and potassium cyanide."

Cyril gasped in fear.

"Criminals on the bars of justice, have you anything to state in your defense?"

With that, the record silenced, leaving a hostile vibe to fill the room.


	2. The Great, Big, Greedy Nincompoop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where things get gory and violent.

The children looked at one another in fear, unsure of what to say to each other. But it wasn't too long before someone broke the silence.

"Cyril's middle name is Elizabeth?" August chuckled.  
"Oh man! Do I feel sorry for that poor lad.”

"Um, pardon me. Elizabeth is a very appropriate middle name for me," Cyril piped up angrily, folding her arms.

August froze in mid-laughter as he turned to Cyril.

"Oh, you--you're Cyril?" he asked sheepishly.

"Yes. My parents were expecting a boy," Cyril sighed.

"What was that record about, Victoria?" Mitchell asked harshly.

"I--I don't know," Victoria stuttered in fright.  
"I thought that it was just music that Mr. Ka left for us."

The five frightened teenagers let the silence sink in, trying to comprehend what they'd just heard. All of them, every single one of them, had committed murder? But....they were only teenagers! Surely this all had to be some sort of elaborate joke. There was no other explanation!

"Speaking of, where is Mr. Ka?" August asked.

"He's not going to be here until Tuesday," Victoria announced; her fear seemed to vanish almost instantaneously.

The others turned to her.

"How do you know?" Cyril asked suspiciously.

"I found a note on the table in my room just shortly after we arrived."

"But you said that you don't know who he is."

"I don't. Not personally, at least. I guess that he thought that I was the most trustworthy. Anyway he wrote that, just after our boat departed from the dock, there was an accident down at the harbor. He will be delayed in London until Tuesday morning."

"If what you say is true, then show me the note," Cyril ordered holding a hand out.

"I would, but I threw it out. I got quite angry. I mean, what kind of a host leaves his own house just before his guests arrive? That's not very polite, now is it?"

There was a moment of silence as each of the children considered Victoria's logic.

"Is it true, Cyril?" Veronica asked out of the blue.

Cyril looked up at Veronica.

"Is what true?" Cyril asked puzzled.

"That you killed your sister?"

Cyril froze, unsure as to what her response should be. Her eyes darted around the room as if they could seek out the answer better than her own mind.

"Ah, who cares if she did or not?" August bellowed.  
"I'm starving."

"Yeah, me too," Mitchell agreed.

"As am I," said Victoria.

The three got up and went into the kitchen. Cyril started to follow when she felt a sudden jerk on the back of her dress collar. She whirled around to find Veronica; her eyes had become narrow, hostile slits. 

"Is it true?" Veronica hissed.

Cyril pulled away from Veronica.

"I--It's none of your business to know," Cyril snapped as she hastily followed the others into the kitchen; her underlying past was just beginning to resurface along with the others.

* * *

It was late at night. While the others had gone to sleep, August laid awake in bed. Threads of that fateful day snaked through his mind.

_"Give me the bottle, Gump!"_

_He remembered the voice; it belonged to nine year old Cynthia Willows Jameson, a girl that he was being forced to babysit while the parents were out. She had attempted to overdose herself with sleep medication._

_"No, Cynthia. It's too dangerous. I won't let you do it!"_

_"Give me that bottle! It's my death, not yours."_

_He remembered the pain that he had felt when she had decked him in the rib cage. In a flash, the bottle was in her hands. She ran out into the rainy streets of Bristol where she fell on the curb. August remembered using some of his money to rent a cab to retrieve her. He hadn't mean to do it. If only he had been paying attention to what laid on the Bristol curb when the cab driver ran over it......_

August shot out of bed in a cold sweat and turned on the light. Panting heavily, he decided that he would read for a bit. It always seemed to calm him down. He picked up his copy of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and turned to the section that had been marked. 

"I remember this part!" he exclaimed to himself.  
"Fell into the river and got sucked up the fudge pipe. Poor chap! I'm surprised he didn't drown."

Still infected by the insomnia and guilt, August decided to take a bath. Water seemed to calm his nerves even more than books. He headed for the bathroom and filled up the tub with water. It was a rather large tub for a mansion. Bigger than a standard bath tub, but smaller than a swimming pool. 

As he was about to step in, he heard a low creak coming from outside. Then another. And another. Anxious, he put on the robe hanging on a hook by the tub and crept over to the door. Slowly his hand reached out to the knob and twisted it. The door opened with a long creak. 

August looked around. There was nothing as far as he could see. Then suddenly---

_"Give me the bottle, Gump!"_

It was a demanding and echoey voice; like the voice of a small girl long gone. 

_"Give it to me, Gump!"_

Suddenly the voice seemed a lot closer to him. He began to suspect that he was not the only one who was awake at this time of night. His knees quaked and clanged against one another. His teeth began to chatter as the voice repeated itself; increasing in volume every time. Then he saw her.

August could just barely make her out in the dimly-lit end of the hallway. Straight ahead of him was a small, brunette girl. Or at least he thought that it was. The girl was covered in blood and her body was warped in a way that made him feel all too threatened. He thought that he could see some of her bone marrow peeking out from the large cuts in her body, along with some blood which was ever so slowly flowing from the cuts. Some scars looked to be patched up with stitching, but the blood flowing from them indicated that they were doing no good to heal her. Her mouth was crooked beyond repair; her lips and teeth were warped and stained with dry blood. Her dress was dirty, blood-stained, and torn. August wasn't even sure if this figure was human. She looked as if she had just been run over in the streets.

"No," August whispered.  
"It can't be her."

Slowly the figure limped towards August, making small thumping sounds. As it got closer, he noticed that the figure held two items in its hands. One was a bottle of pills. And the other was a sharp steel blade.

"It can't be Cynthia," he gasped.

The figure looked at him with red, blood-shot eyes.

"Oh, but it is me, Gump. And you're going to be very sorry for running me over."

August began to step back into the bathroom. The figure followed him in before he could shut the door. There was no way out for August except backwards. 

He was very close to the edge of the tub, the sound of the faucet dripping practically against his ear. The figure kept on advancing towards him. The steel blade glinted in the light of the bathroom. One more step backwards would send August tumbling down into the water. If only he had realized it in time. 

His head scraped against the faucet of the tub, leaving a large red mark as he fell into the water with a splash. As he began to realize the gravity of his situation, he tried to fight back, but an over-powering forced, a cold one, pushed on his head like a hydraulic press. His lungs were screaming for air, practically banging against his chest, but he dared not open his mouth. One gasp and he'd drown no matter what. 

A searing sting of pain surged from the back of his leg, causing him to tense up. Then he felt it on the other. More of them began to climb upward. It felt as though he was being crushed by a tire covered in needles. After he felt them pierce his head, something lifted him from the water and came around to appear in his field of vision. The figure raised his head just over the edge of the porcelain tub.

_"I told you you would be sorry...."_

And she brought his head down on the tub with a loud crack.....


End file.
